


Jugular Ploy

by ember_alda



Series: Realms of Influence [6]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Drama, Euphamisms, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_alda/pseuds/ember_alda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunter’s head is down turned, words slipping out while he tries not to look into his accuser’s face, somehow feeling uneasy as not-quite-guilt floods him. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to explain himself, almost in self justification. “The-they aren’t people.”</p><p>Hair brushes past Yamamoto’s cheek as Squalo bends his head, mouth barely moving as he speaks, low and quiet into the kid’s ear, the intimacy of the moment vaguely obscene with how much blood was pooled between them.</p><p>“They aren’t?”</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Jugular Ploy

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: _Squalo, Yamamoto, vampires. In any combination._

 

It wasn’t always as easy as battling evil and demons, he found out. Sometimes it was just really fucked up.

“What, _brat_? Too stunned that your little trick didn’t work on me?”

He didn’t know what to do. Yamamoto had won, fair and square, he’d ran the bastard vampire through and he was still _talking_ , like everything was normal. Hundreds of hunts, hundred of hours spent perfecting technique and in one stunned moment, it collapses on him like a house of cards. What was he doing? Wasn’t this supposed to be the most flawless, invincible, style? What does he do now?

Squalo’s grip on his wrist grows harder as Yamamoto is yanked forward with crushing strength. He stumbles across the remaining feet between them, fingers still gripped unerringly around the hilt of his katana as he feels Squalo impale himself further on his sword.

“Hey, aren’t you going to feel your dirty work?”

A cruel twist dictated Yamamoto’s wrist to widen the bloody hole inside Squalo’s gut, a motion that should have been excruciating in pain only making Squalo’s bloody mouth pull upward into a grin. Another grip wraps around Yamamoto’s free hand, snatching the deadened limb from his side and suddenly, it’s shoved straight inside the gaping wound.

“Wha-”

He gasps at the shock of hot, slippery flesh engulfing his hand and the gush of blood running across his arm which was frozen from the cold autumn air. It startles him out of his defeated daze as he looks up, almost afraid at the vicious smile plastered on Squalo’s face.

“Enjoying your victory? Did you think that something so small could defeat me? Your pathetic attempt at revenge is what’s failed you!”

His hand is shoved further inside Squalo’s guts as he talks, the slick muscles of the vampire’s abdomen moving in time with his speech, the vibrations rippling across Yamamoto’s knuckles.

“I- this isn’t- the Shigure Souen Style is flawless and invincible.”

The self-directed mumbles of the brat only make Squalo laugh, no longer even needing to hold the kid’s sword in place as the young hunter is paralyzed by his own fascination. “Did your dead father tell you that?”

Finally a blaze of emotion rushes into the glassy eyes, a furious glint striking up to meet Squalo’s gaze. He can feel the trembling in the boy’s limbs born of angry desperation long suppressed, even deep inside his own stomach.

“I’ll find them, whoever did it. I _will_.”

Yamamoto feels an arm snake across his back, shoving him forward till he and the other swordsman are inches close, the mocking glint in Squalo’s eye trapping his vow and calmly, tears it apart.

“So what, you’re just wasting your time doing other people’s hired work in the mean time? Scurrying around like a good servant, killing people who have nothing to do with your petty revenge?”

The hunter’s head is down turned, words slipping out while he tries not to look into his accuser’s face, somehow feeling uneasy as not-quite-guilt floods him. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to explain himself, almost in self justification. “The-they aren’t people.”

Hair brushes past Yamamoto’s cheek as Squalo bends his head, mouth barely moving as he speaks, low and quiet into the kid’s ear, the intimacy of the moment vaguely obscene with how much blood was pooled between them.

“They aren’t?”

A jerk forces Yamamoto’s hand to move and rove around to feel the throbbing flesh of all too human organs. He whimpers at the pressure of Squalo fingers on his wrist, wrapped so tightly the bone in his hand starts to creak while at his neck he feels the threatening pressure of Squalo’s lips bared wide in a vicious smile. The man’s words ring and ring inside Yamamoto’s head as his hand tries to squirm away from the feel of warm, lively tissue.

“Don’t be delusional, _hunter_. That pathetic display of swordsmanship was worthlessly _weak_. Either you know what you are doing or you don’t fuck around with swords at all. Don’t try and hide behind your stupid excuses; you’re killing something or you’re not killing something, nothing else.”

He’s torn away from the nexus of warmth, hand suddenly icy cold in the blast of autumn wind, dripping blood as Yamamoto lies fallen on the dirt. Suddenly, his katana is flung to the ground beside him, silver edge stained after Squalo rips it out of his own torso. Yamamoto is still trembling, trying not to feel that he’d somehow missed the entire point of his father’s gift to him, the most flawless and invincible style. Even after the press of flesh is gone from against his skin, he can still feel the secrets of those slashed organs spilling into his fingers, accusing him through touch.

“Figure it out, kid. I hate fighting clueless weaklings more than I do young brats.”

He watches as Squalo licks his own blood from his splattered arm, the dark, wetly gleaming wound ignored as if it wasn’t even there- and maybe it wasn’t.

He might as well have hit air with how pathetically he wielded the blade in his hand. Yamamoto’s mind was suddenly clear for the first time that night- he agreed, he hated clueless weaklings more than anything else.

 

THE END

 


End file.
